


The Witch at the Well, ~1989

by kayeblaise



Series: SVT Immortals AU [4]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family, life is hard but life is also good, none of them are human, not necessary to read other parts to read this, tags updated when chapters are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeblaise/pseuds/kayeblaise
Summary: It really wasn’t DK’s fault about his voice.  It was the curse.





	1. Home

Dawn had not yet broken over the horizon when Mingyu shuffled down the hall, his eyes half closed, to answer the knock at the door.  The touch of the cold floor on his bare feet helped wake him enough to wonder who would have come calling so early in the morning.

Catching a blurry glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror, he ruffled a hand through his hair to try to put it into some kind of decent shape before he pulled open the door.  He was preparing himself to turn away a vacuum salesman or an eager petitioner.  Instead he was greeted by DK’s expectant face.

A surprised, “Hey!’ escaped him.  He reached out and practically pulled DK over the threshold and into a hug that smelled like salt water and sand.  “Welcome back!  How have you been?”

DK pat his back cheerfully and then pulled away so he could share the broad smile on his face.  If it was any indication he was doing well.

When DK moved on to slipping off his shoes, Mingyu noticed that some kind of seaweed clung to the strap of his bag which was more cracked and faded than ever.  DK dropped the leather bag from his shoulder into the corner as Mingyu asked, “How long are you staying for?”

With evident regret, DK’s mouth quirked and he rocked his hand from side to side noncommittally.  

Mingyu tried to keep the flicker of disappointment off his face.  He understood that DK could never stay for long—such was the nature of the curse. 

Trying not to dwell on the negatives, he turned toward the side-table under the mirror and fished around in the drawer until he found what he was looking for.  He pulled out the silver coin by the necklace cord and tossed it to the other.

DK caught it and gave him a thumbs up, then peered past him down the hall, eyes searching.

“I’m the only one up,” he explained, “it’s still pretty early.”

DK raised an eyebrow questioningly as he slipped the necklace on over his head.

Mingyu dodged the look.  He didn’t want to admit to why he was the only one up early enough to have heard the knock at the door.  There was still a twinge of a headache at the back of his head and the last thing he needed was a swarm of furiously scribbled questions from DK.

Unaware of Mingyu’s thoughts, DK studied the walls like he was re-memorizing every detail of the fading floral paper.  There was something soft in his features, then.  Forgetfully, he turned back to Mingyu like he was going to say something but caught himself and quickly closed his mouth.  Holding up a finger in a clear _wait a moment_ gesture, he disappeared through the doorway on the right into the rarely used dining room. 

Mingyu trailed after him.

DK stopped halfway into the room.  It became apparent why when DK elbowed him to share the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  The8 was asleep at the table, his head nested in his arms.  “Yeah, he does that,” Mingyu mumbled with disinterest.  He was sure it was still charming to DK that The8 refused to sleep in a normal place, but he was used to it.

DK quietly returned to his original task, stepping carefully through the room to the cabinet on the opposite wall.  He rustled around until he found a pen and a scrap of paper and walked back scribbling in his hand.  With a quick flourish, he seemed satisfied, and gave the paper over to Mingyu, waiting for him to decipher the shaky lettering. 

Keeping his voice low, Mingyu read hesitantly, “Where’s Hoshi?” 

DK nodded.

“You didn’t see him outside?” Mingyu wondered.   

DK’s exaggerated shrug communicated, _obviously not._

If Mingyu had known Hoshi was away he would have answered the door more carefully.  He always assumed that Hoshi was out in the front garden to spy on visitors in the early hours of the morning. “He must have gone off somewhere.”  He forgot to keep his voice low, and a small groan of complaint came from the area of the table.

With the exchange temporarily interrupted, DK jerked his head back to The8, who was shifting slowly in sleep.  Even in his odd position slumped over the table, The8 looked strangely comfortable.

DK went and pulled out a chair next to him and sat down.  After a moment, he put his hand on top of the younger’s arm and shook lightly. 

The8 blinked awake.  He lifted his head slightly off of his arms and Mingyu saw the exact moment his eyes came into focus and he recognized who was sitting next to him. 

He pushed DK forcefully, the taller grinning all the while.  “You’re here?” The8’s words sounded clumsy so early in the morning.

DK shrugged and The8 wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him toward him a little violently. “What do you have to be all smiley and happy about?  Like you haven’t kept us waiting for ages?”

DK ruffled teasingly at his hair and The8 sat back, glaring at him in a somehow affectionate way.

“Is my sunshine kid home at last?”  Jeonghan came around the corner looking startlingly awake.

Mingyu was certain that Jeonghan had only just woken up and yet there was an uncharacteristic spring in his step as he made his way to the table. 

DK grinned just at the sight of him and Jeonghan answered warmly, “I missed that idiot grin.”

“How did you figure out he was here when _I_ didn’t know he was here?” The8 complained as Jeonghan pulled out a chair to sit in.

“I know him best,” Jeonghan answered straightforwardly.  Then he spared a glance at The8 to let him know he was only teasing.

Mingyu felt awkward standing there while they all sat at the table but it felt too late to go over now.

“So, talk to me,” Jeonghan invited, tapping DK on the knee.  “Where did your travels take you?”

DK’s expression turned sheepish and he glanced subtly at Mingyu. 

Mingyu knew what that look meant and felt a bit of guilt although, really, it wasn’t his fault.  It was DK’s curse.

Jeonghan solved the problem with mock impatience, “Mingyu, cover your ears.”

Mingyu did as he was told, humming a bit to block the sound.  He watched Jeonghan and DK’s mouths move like he was watching the television on mute.  Occasionally The8 seemed to add a comment but the only sound he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears.

After a while, he almost got curious.  He wondered what the harm could be of just listening in a little bit.  DK seemed so bright and excited, he wished he knew what he was saying.  He’d only gotten to hear his voice once and it had been so nice.  When his hands were just starting to peel away from his ears, Jeonghan signaled that the conversation was finished.

He dropped his hands, a bit disappointed.

“We’ll need to find a more permanent solution than this in the long run,” Jeonghan announced to no one in particular. 

The8 was quick to suggest, “You can kick out Mingyu.  We don’t need two witches and honestly he’s the only one who’s at risk of drowning himself in the river if he hears him.”

The comment didn’t seem to settle right with DK, who had an exaggerated frown on his face.     

“That’s rude and it’s not true,” Jeonghan dismissed, “we know for a fact it affects Seungcheol, too, and who knows who else in this house.”

“Humans,” The8 scoffed in a way that would have been offensive had anyone else said it.

“I’m barely human,” Mingyu countered defensively.

“Barely enough.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes and The8 twisted up his face at him.

Meanwhile, DK had been scribbling on his hand.  The ink seemed to be having a hard time sticking. 

When Jeonghan noticed, he took the pen from him and before DK could protest he tapped the side of his head.  DK shut his mouth and the complaint left his features.  They carried on the conversation silently between the two of them for a bit and Mingyu wondered what they were talking about inside their heads.

The8 voiced his thoughts.   “Sharing is caring.”

“He wants to see the others,” Jeonghan said aloud.

“Then let’s go wake them up,” The8 encouraged, “Before Hoshi gets back and ruins the element of surprise.”

“Where did Hoshi go?” Jeonghan wondered.

“Probably saw an interesting squirrel to chase,” Mingyu muttered. 

The8 snuck him a high five behind his back.

“Guys—”

“He’ll be back,” The8 concluded, standing up and stretching extravagantly.  “Plus, you know he’ll share every excruciating detail with us.”

Even Jeonghan cracked a smile at that.

DK waved his arms to regain their attention then gestured toward the hall. 

“Alright, alright, children, go on,” Jeonghan said.

“I know you’re ancient,” Mingyu responded, “but could you stop calling us kids?”

“I’m not ancient, I’m timeless, Mingyu, and when you stop acting like a child I’ll stop treating you like one.  Now run along and wreak havoc upon this household, my children.”

With the blessing of Jeonghan upon them, they exited into the hall without a second thought.  There was no discussion needed about which room they would head to first.  DK still seemed a little downcast, though, and Mingyu regretted the argument he’d had with The8 in front of him.  It really wasn’t DK’s fault about his voice.  It was the curse:  the same one that drove him back to the rivers or the ocean anytime he tried to settle back home.  DK had never bothered to write out the whole story of how he'd come to be cursed, but Mingyu knew the details from Wonwoo that some ancient goddess had been jealous of his voice.  There was little chance of undoing it now so many years on. DK was probably grateful to have some immortals he could talk to at the house without risk, but Mingyu wished he was one of them, not that he couldn't get his points across without language.

Taking the precaution of hiding his hands under his arms (he really didn’t want to aggravate his slowly fading headache), he bumped hard into the siren with his shoulder, which pinballed him into The8.  The8 aimed a grumpy kick in his direction which missed, thankfully, although it was likely he’d missed on purpose. 

A smile cracked across DK’s face and he grabbed Mingyu’s shoulders and shook him jokingly.  Mood greatly improved, DK threw an arm around Mingyu’s neck and dragged him along to the first room.  The door was already open.

All three of them bundled into the darkness and gathered at the foot of the bed with barely suppressed excitement.  

DK had the honor of making a quick grab for the lump in the comforter that seemed to be S. Coups’s foot, then jumped back when S. Coups jackknifed upright, flailing his arms, legs scrabbling. 

They laughed all together for a while, DK slapping Mingyu happily.

Suddenly a pillow came flying fast and hard from the bed and it hit The8 square on, causing DK and Mingyu to half collapse on the floor in hysterics. 

But The8 had stopped laughing.

As it became clear that S. Coups wasn’t laughing either, their amusement dimmed.  He wasn’t complaining either, as they might have expected.  He was just sitting there, expression tense, hands like claws grabbing into the sheets. 

They fell silent. 

Jeonghan appeared suddenly behind them, squeezing between them to reach the bed.  They heard him say, “I forgot,” closely, as he moved carefully up to the other.

Coups didn’t seem to hear him. His breath was audible and harsh. There was animal rage in his face where it didn’t belong.

Not turning away from S. Coups, Jeonghan said carefully, “Guys, why don’t you wait outside a bit.”

There was a hesitation in all of them, and Jeonghan continued calmingly, “We’ll be out in a second.  I promise.”

DK was the first to move.  He put out both arms to hook them into motion and ushered them out of the room ahead of him.

They heard something like a growl behind them.  The last thing they caught as DK shut the door was Jeonghan saying, “It’s the kids, Seungcheol. It’s 198—”

They wound up sitting against the walls outside the room.  DK’s arm was thrown forgetfully around The8’s shoulder.  The younger was picking at his fingernails.  Mingyu sat opposite of them and just stared at the ground.

Mingyu wondered how far away the full moon was.  He’d never thought to keep track before, but he’d never seen S. Coups that angry, either. Had it been last night?

Just then, Hoshi appeared literally from out of nowhere.  “Hi!”  He dropped to the floor so he could tackle DK.  The whole arrangement ended up being a tangle of awkward limbs, DK trying to extract himself from both Hoshi and The8 who had been trapped under his arm.  A bundle of complaints flew half-heartedly into the air and Hoshi’s voice rose loudly above them: “When did you get home?  Where did you go this time?  I’m so excited you’re here, you’ll never believe--”

“Slow down,” DK begged, finally managing to regain control of his arms. 

Hoshi sat back on his heels.  His gaze flickered from DK to The8 and then his face fell.  “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” DK insisted, trying to soften his expression, “no, it’s not that—”

“Uh oh.” The8 suddenly scrambled to the opposite wall.  He grabbed at Mingyu’s face, smacking him lightly a couple of times.  “Hey.  Snap out of it.”

DK’s face drained of color as he realized what had happened and he clapped his hands over his mouth.

Mingyu was zeroed in on him across the hall.  The8 continued to pat at the side of Mingyu’s blank face.  “Hey, you idiot.  He’s stopped talking now so snap out of it.”

There was a frightening look in Mingyu’s eyes and he didn’t blink, but suddenly shifted like he was trying to get up.  The8 slapped him hard up the side of the head and shook him by the handfuls of his shirt he was gripping onto.  “Don’t you dare!”

Mingyu’s hand grabbed back onto The8’s sleeve. 

The8 froze as Mingyu’s eyes slid to almost meet his dead on.  He didn’t breathe out until the other mumbled, “I’ll kill you if you ever do that again.”

The8 rolled his eyes and exhaled heavily.  “You idiot.  I thought I was going to have to lock you in a broom closet.”

“You’d like that,” Mingyu grumbled, shaking his head.  He closed his eyes and groaned in complaint.  “So much for not having a headache.”

Just then the door opened behind them.  S. Coups came out of the room ahead of Jeonghan, and there was nothing of the tension that had gripped him before.  In fact, the way his hair stuck up in wild directions only added to the sleepy confusion on his face.

“Is there a reason you’re all strangling each other in the hallway?” he asked.

“We could do it somewhere else,” Hoshi volunteered, his face squished against DK who still had his hands covering his mouth. 

“Is everyone good?” S. Coups tried again, moving toward DK who seemed to be in obvious distress, but the other shook his head, looking desperately up at Jeonghan to communicate.

“Oh,” Jeonghan said understandingly, “Seungcheol why don’t we give everyone a little space to get settled.  Mingyu?”  he gestured for the other to join them.  He stood with a hand still pressed against his head.

When The8 didn’t at first choose to join them, Jeonghan shot him a look and he begrudgingly got up as well.

“It’s great that you’re home,” S. Coups said in tired confusion to DK before the group headed toward the kitchen.  “Come join us in a second, okay?”

DK nodded and waited for them all to disappear around the corner before he exhaled and slumped back against the wall, the danger now passed.

“Since we’re not near the ocean, what happens if someone normal-ish hears you speak?  Would they just dump their face in the nearest toilet?”

DK whined in frustration but Hoshi shrugged, “What?  It’s a fair question!”

Not able to fully keep amusement off of his face, DK leant close and whispered, “Where were you?” his eyes darting down the hall with caution to make sure no one was in danger of overhearing him.  He'd done enough damage for one day.

“I just went for a walk,” Hoshi explained.   

“You _hate_ walking."

Hoshi grinned broadly.  “It’s a secret.”

“You can’t tell _me_?”

“I will soon.  I promise.”  The imp held up his pinky finger, and DK gave him a suspicious look but added his pinky to the promise.  With the matter temporarily closed, Hoshi asked,

“Does everyone know you’re here yet?”

DK shook his head.  Hoshi grinned and leapt to his feet, crowing, “Hey!  Sleepy heads!  Get your butts out of bed and look who’s here!”

DK cringed at the loudness of his voice but when Hoshi beamed back down at him to share his joy he couldn’t be the least bit upset.  Despite the risks, he couldn't help thinking that coming home was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's not very clear, DK is referred to as a siren but his character is drawn from all sorts of related water creature myth/lore. Basically his voice causes people to go mad like the sirens of Greek mythology (but it only affects some of our immortals) and he isn't able to stay away from the water for long. What he looks like when he returns to the water isn't clear but he looks like a regular person on dry land.
> 
> This is part of my really broad, completely under-developed au that has no linear story-line and no real end point. Just moments of half told stories. Feel free to explore/request more through kayeblaise.tumblr.com/immortalstags Questions/Comments welcome.


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It should always be like this.”  
> “Why can’t it be?”

They were sitting on the back porch under the stars, but they were so engrossed in conversation with one another they didn’t seem to notice the sky.  Hoshi was sitting on the railing, his legs swinging, and DK sat on an old crate facing him, his back to the house.  Whenever Hoshi’s foot would come close enough, DK would hit the toe of his shoe with his hand and they’d laugh.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Jeonghan’s voice was soft yet teasing, like he had been watching S. Coups stare out the kitchen window for a while.

“Eavesdropping,” he admitted freely.

Jeonghan joined him in peeking out at them.  “I think you know better than to eavesdrop on that particular conversation.”

“I’m being careful.  I can’t hear anything.”

“I’d hate to have to tie you to the mast and stuff your ears with cotton.” 

When S. Coups finally deciphered the meaning enough to laugh, Jeonghan’s complementary smile erased any trace of the centuries they’d lived through.

“I’m glad they have one another.”

“They’re two of a kind,” Jeonghan agreed.

S. Coups suddenly turned his back on the window. “It should always be like this.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“Because in the end DK can’t stay here.” He started to pace, dodging Jeonghan’s questioning eyes. “This should be the one place he can let his guard down, but he can’t even do that if I’m in the room.”

“You’re not the reason he has to leave,” Jeonghan protested, “And you’re not the only one he has to keep quiet around.  It’s no one’s fault.”

“I know.”  He passed the cabinets and closed one of the drawers that was half open, welcoming the sound of the silverware clashing around. “I just thought all of us living here would make things easier.  But even though we're around people like us, we still have to be careful all the time."

“Are you talking about this morning?”

S. Coups shrugged like he hadn’t expected Jeonghan to catch on to his thoughts. That morning he had woken up and forgotten what decade it was or that he was ever human.

“You can’t help that, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan stepped into the line of his pacing and held him in place by the arms. “It was just one of those nights.  And I think you’d agree it’s easier to be around others who understand.”

“I forget what I am sometimes.  Not that I forget I turn into a wolf,” S. Coups added quickly, since Jeonghan was giving him a skeptical look, “just that I forget what that makes me.  On full moon days, you’re the only thing keeping me from tearing apart the house.  It’s dangerous.  This whole house is a powder keg.”

“You don't really think—”

Just then, they were interrupted by Joshua stumbling his way down the stairs, his hand rubbing at his eyes.

Jeonghan shot a look at S. Coups that said they’d continue their conversation later.  Then he quickly switched gears, greeting, “Hey,” as he held out his arm so Joshua could slip under it.  “How are you feeling?” 

Joshua walked straight into him and spoke with his eyes half closed. “Terrible.” 

“You sound it.”

“We didn’t wake you up, did we?” S. Coups asked, stepping closer so he could brush some wayward hair behind Joshua’s ear.

“No.  They started laughing in the living room.”  That likely meant that Hoshi and DK had moved themselves inside.  The house lit up its brightest on days that DK was home.

“You’ve been sleeping all day,” Jeonghan remarked, sharing a private look with S. Coups.   

“I keep thinking about the asylum.”

The light brightening Jeonghan and S. Coups’s faces dimmed. 

Jeonghan brought his other arm across Joshua to hold him closer against his side.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No."

S. Coups gestured with his head away from the window to the far side of the kitchen. Jeonghan nodded and guided Joshua in the direction of the sink.

He helped lower him to the floor and S. Coups took up position on Joshua’s other side so all three of them sat with their backs against the cabinets. 

“Talk to me,” Jeonghan prompted, dropping his head against Joshua’s shoulder.

“It’s no big deal,” Joshua dodged. “I forget a lot is all—like when I was first here.”

S. Coups hummed his understanding. “You were really sick.” Even now when Joshua fell sick it seemed entirely possible it was the same illness he had never quite overcome. 

“Sometimes I remember things,” he continued, “At least I think I do.  Just pieces of things.”

Jeonghan’s fingers were pulling fretfully at a thread on Joshua’s sleeve and he didn’t seem to notice he was doing it.  S. Coups scooted closer so he could drape his arm across Joshua’s shoulders and over Jeonghan’s neck—hoping to lend stability to both of them.  “Like what?” he prompted lowly.

The only sound for a long while was Joshua breathing. 

“Just things,” he finally admitted in a small voice.

Jeonghan inhaled sharply against Joshua’s shoulder and whispered apologies.  Or maybe he thought them.  Or maybe he didn’t say any words at all but it was clear the painful lack of surprise coming from him.

S. Coups moved his hand up to Jeonghan’s hair, sensing the multiplication of his distress as it fed off of Joshua’s. At the same time, he turned so he could press his nose against the side of Joshua’s head.

 _You have been and always will be safe here,_ he thought, knowing Jeonghan would connect the message between them.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything but the warmth of his presence touched at the back of their minds. 

Joshua exhaled shakily and they felt it more than heard it.  “I worry about what I don’t know. . .”

“I get that,” S. Coups sympathized, because he did.  It was close to his mind today, the anxiety of waking up after a moon had passed and praying he hadn’t done any harm. 

Joshua tilted his head back to meet his eyes then, and something in their depth made him think that maybe he couldn’t understand. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jeonghan decided, “you don’t live there anymore.  You live here.  With us.” The atmosphere was starting to settle and they stayed there for a bit against the cabinets.  From some far part of the house was the sound of laughter.

“Hey.”

The8 was poking his head into the room.  He seemed to pick up on the atmosphere and spoke lowly, “Everyone’s hanging out in the living room if you want to join us.”

Jeonghan scooted into a more upright position and looked over Joshua’s head at S. Coups who nodded. 

“Yeah, we’ll be in soon,” Jeonghan answered.

The8 nodded.  His focus lingered on Joshua before he disappeared back around the corner. 

“You feeling up to it?” S. Coups asked.

“Yeah,” Joshua said, “I can’t sleep anymore, anyway.” 

They disentangled themselves from the floor and Jeonghan steered Joshua ahead of them into the other room toward the distant sound of laughter. 

DK and Hoshi had in fact, it turned out, moved themselves inside.  They were engaged in what appeared at first glance to be an elaborate game of charades, though it became clear after a few moments that DK was acting out a story and Hoshi was narrating.  Judging by how often DK paused mid-action to make alarmed and amused faces at Hoshi (who was laughing so hard he could barely breathe), it seemed Hoshi was fabricating some of the details.

The rest of the household was gathered in different spots around the room.  Mingyu was laughing from the floor in front of the worn leather chair and Woozi was sitting on the armrest, heroically trying to hold back the amusement on his face. 

DK and Hoshi had gotten into some kind of fake fight which likely had nothing to do with the story.  This caused Jun, who had been lying halfway over Wonwoo’s lap to laugh so hard he almost rolled off onto the floor.  Wonwoo just barely caught him, a rare grin across his face.

When he saw them walk in, The8 waved to them from where he was sitting on the back of the couch.  Joshua ended up walking over on his own accord to sit on the couch in front of him.  The younger dropped his hands onto Joshua’s shoulders and proceeded to manipulate him like a big puppet, which brought a dormant smile onto his face.

“So to recap,” Hoshi shouted over the din overtaking the room, “there were three individuals on the speed boat.”

“Objection!” Wonwoo called.  He dodged the pillow thrown at him by Mingyu, grinning without looking over. “You said it was two people.”  

“You did,” Woozi confirmed.

“And it started out as a jet ski,” The8 added.  He tilted to the side so he could look down at Joshua and receive validation.  Joshua nodded his very serious agreement although he hadn’t been in the room.

“The only explanation is that there was both a jet ski _and_ a speed boat!” Hoshi crowed. 

The grin on DK’s face was wide enough to break it open.  Hoshi shared the look of complete, giddy joy on his face as he leaned toward him and shouted, “Or was it really _five_ people on an enormous _jet propelled ski boat_!”

As if they had telepathically communicated, they both took off in opposite directions on fake jet boats, running around the room while Hoshi made sound effects.

S. Coups aimed a small kick at Hoshi as he zoomed by, a look of pure happiness on his face.

Mingyu was laughing so hard now the only sound coming out of him was some kind of wheeze.

S. Coups and Jeonghan ended up against the wall side by side, watching the rest of the story unfold to the backdrop of chaos. After a while, S. Coups leant in closer and said, “See? This is what it should be like.”

Bumping the other’s shoulder with his own, Jeonghan responded, “It is.  Right now, it is.”

At least for the night, S. Coups was content to think that was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka: S. Coups questions if what they're doing is worth it, proves that it is, and is still too much of a nerd to get it.  
> AKA: There's actually a plot going on here if you can believe it.  
> aKa: All of them are beautiful and they love each other and I'm crying
> 
> Link for the folks who like facts and hate half told stories: http://kayeblaise.tumblr.com/immortalstags


	3. Cake

The light coming into the kitchen was golden and it swept up the cold that had settled in overnight.  S. Coups took a sip from his mug, his back against the fridge, then announced, “I was thinking of getting something to celebrate The8’s anniversary with us.  It’s coming up next week.”

Wonwoo glanced over the top of the paper. “How long has it been?”

S. Coups stopped to consider the question. “I don’t know. But it was definitely around this time of year.”

Wonwoo laid the newspaper down flat on the table and said, “You just want an excuse to get cake.”

“I do,” he admitted willingly, “but I feel weird putting _The8_ on a cake, I feel as if people will question that.”

Jun was sitting on the counter slicing the peel off of an apple when he interrupted, “You know that his name isn’t The8, right?”

S. Coups blinked and looked back. “What?”

“He’s saying he’s _the 8 th_”

“The 8th what?” S. Coups wondered. 

“The 8th son,” Jun answered, quirking his head to the side, “You know, like the story.”

S. Coups looked at Wonwoo with questioning eyes.

Wonwoo shrugged.

Jun grinned and hopped down from the counter.  “You’re telling me I know more than mister bookworm himself?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo complained as Jun came up and tried to pinch at his cheek.

“What story?” S. Coups wondered aloud, hoping that Jun would fill in the blanks. 

Jun shook the apple disapprovingly at them. “You two have gotten lazy.”

They started rolling out protests which Jun interrupted by adding, “I’m just saying, back in the day you two were on top of this kind of thing.  You’re losing your touch.”

“That is categorically untrue and I for one am offended,” S. Coups responded, garnering agreement from Wonwoo.

“Okay, quiz time,” Jun said.  As he spoke, he returned to the counter to pick up the knife and resume peeling the apple. “What is The8’s actual name?”

The lack of a response was glaring, but they knew it would be pointless to fake a response.

Jun supplied, “You should ask him sometime.  Second question,” he stepped up closer and raised an eyebrow.  "Where has Hoshi been going every morning?”

S. Coups’s mouth stayed open long enough that Jun was able to fit the apple between his teeth. “See?” he said with a bit of satisfaction. He gave the same pointed look to Wonwoo and then he left the knife on the table, whistling as he headed out of the room.

S. Coups took a bite out of the apple before he removed it out of his mouth. Then he looked at Wonwoo. “What did he mean about the 8 sons thing?”

“Apparently, he’s decided he's going to make us work for it,” Wonwoo exhaled.

“Not me,” S. Coups pointed out, speaking through his second bite of apple, “you.”

Wonwoo shook his head.  Then he stood up, taking his half-eaten cereal over to the sink.

S. Coups waited until the sound of the sink stopped, then asked, “And what was he saying about Hoshi?"

Without turning around, Wonwoo said, “It’s Hoshi.  Can’t be anything too serious.”

. . .

Deep in the forest, everything was such a tangle of plants and moss-covered trees that even the shadows appeared dark green.  Hoshi stepped lightly.  His shoes left no impression on the ground.

He had been wandering so long without sense of time or place.  The sun did not push the days into nights here.  It was a constant stillness and silence with only an interruption of mist. 

“One o’clock, two o’clock,” he sang lightly.  He stepped over the rotting carcass of an ancient tree, slowing his steps to listen, “The witch is out tonight.”

The forest was silent.  There was no sound of leaves or of birds or of the creaking of branches.  The sound of his own voice was swallowed before it traveled far.

He finished the song, “One o’clock, two o’clock, the witch at the well.” 

He was just beginning to continue on his way, when a voice sounded back for the first time through the darkness.  It was both loud and soft—echoing on itself—melodic and grating in turn as if it did not belong enough to the world to be comprehended. 

_“But wherefore have you come?”_

Hoshi planted his feet.  Triumph rose up through him and he continued singing almost under his breath, “One o’clock, two o’clock, the witch is out tonight.”

And she appeared, nose to nose with him, so close that he could feel her breath on his face.  She seemed more bumps and knobs than flesh and bone.  She was mud and dark green.  He could smell the odor of decomposition that clung to her:  the smell of dirt and damp leaves. 

“You have found her.”  The mouth that moved and spit as she spoke did not match the movement of the words.  As if the words did not come from the body staring at him with frog eyes. 

A tingling of energy rose up from his toes.  He had found her.

“You cursed my friend,” he said at last. 

She grinned. 

_“I may well have, the witch at the well.”_

The words played as a children’s song in the back of his mind.  There was the sound of laughter from far in the trees.

“You stole his voice.”

The decaying mouth mimed the speech that reverberated through the air with the sound of so many voices.  “ _I steal many._ _And I whisper into the children’s ears.”_

A dozen voices whispered from all parts around them.  _Push him in.  Hold them down.  Jump._

Hoshi held his ground.  

“I’m here to get my friend’s voice back.”

The witch stilled.  Her yellow, muddied eyes blinking vertically.  Something like a hiss seemed to be issuing from around her.

He demanded, “You’re going to give me his voice back.”

A shrill horrible sound suddenly came flooding down on him from all directions.  His hands flew up to cover his ears, his eyes snapping shut on instinct.  The voice flew around him tightly with the wind, dizzying him.  He swatted at it like a swarm of flies. 

When he realized the painful shriek had deadened and vanished he quickly dropped his hands, blinking and searching for the figure.

He spun around twice and saw nothing. 

The silence boiled up through his being.  “No!” he shouted.  He had found her.  After so long.  The forest felt still and dead.

He turned around.

As he did the voice whispered, “ _Make me a deal_.”

He frantically scanned over the trees.  “What kind?” he shouted at nothing.

“ _A trade_.”

There was a great hissing wind and then silence.   

She did not appear again.  The voice did not sound again.  But Hoshi knew if he returned he would find her. 

She wanted a trade.

He would give her one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A snippet. This story will probably be moving along quickly for a bit. Things are happening!


	4. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (new au readers may wish to see end notes)

The house was so quiet at times like this after everyone had retreated to their respective corners for the night.  By the time Wonwoo had closed his books and given up his research into any and all lore he could find that referenced sons, he didn’t expect to find anyone else in the kitchen when he walked in.

“You look exhausted,” Wonwoo commented.

Mingyu ruffled at his own hair with almost childish frustration.  “I can’t sleep.”

“Is your head bothering you again?” Wonwoo wondered, sliding into the opposite chair. 

From his position half slumped on the kitchen table, Mingyu avoided Wonwoo’s eyes.  He traced out a pattern on the tabletop and mumbled almost unintelligibly, “I’ve been having these dreams.”

“What?”

“Just sometimes when I go to sleep I get this weird feeling like someone’s watchin—.” 

He cringed when Wonwoo reacted exactly as he’d expected.  “Mingyu, how many times do I have to tell you:  you can’t hide stuff like that,” there was a flurry of disbelief and worry in his words that was entirely too much, “You of all people can’t—”

“Why?” The word was an emerging defiance. 

“Sorry?”

“Why do you always say: _You of all people?_ Why do you guys follow me around and get angry when I don’t tell you the smallest thing?  What don’t I know?”

Wonwoo’s flustered answer of, “It doesn’t mean anything,” was not reassuring.

“What’s wrong with me?” Mingyu challenged, sitting up straighter in the chair.  He was too tired to care about the consequences.

The way Wonwoo’s shoulders squared and the set of his jaw made it seem like he was going to insist on his original answer.  But somewhere in looking at Mingyu his expression slipped.  He leant forward onto the table cautiously.  He studied the other closely as he spoke. “I’m a witch, Mingyu.  I have lived a very long time and I know a great many things.  I have learned just about everything there is to know about this craft.”

“So?” Mingyu said defensively.

“I can’t do what you can, Mingyu.  Not even close.”

The words felt weighty and powerful as they lingered in the air, but Mingyu didn’t understand.  There were a lot of things that Wonwoo was good at that he couldn’t do.  Wonwoo was always getting frustrated with him over the things he failed at, but he was being strangely gentle now.

“So what?” the defensiveness was melting into unease at the way Wonwoo was speaking to him.

“Witch is a bit of a catch-all term.  People use it for a lot of different things.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” 

“You’ve never felt like maybe there was something different about you?”

“No.”

Wonwoo almost stopped talking then.  His gaze went across the room, but without meeting the younger’s eyes he continued quietly:

“Mingyu, I know we talked about it at the time, but I wondered if after what happened at St. Marks you might have known but didn’t want to tell me.”

“Known _what_?”

Wonwoo fiddled with his hands.  Mingyu tried to ignore the way his head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“In London all those years ago, when that demon touched you, you didn’t see _anything_?” Wonwoo pressed.

The air almost buzzed in silence.

“I saw one thing,” Mingyu admitted, arms crossed, “It didn’t seem important.”

“What did you see?”

He tried so hard not to sound bothered.  “My mother.” 

Wonwoo’s gaze was even and his voice clear when he invited him to wonder, “Does that make any sense to you?”

Mingyu’s heart was crashing against his chest. “No.”

“What do you normally see, Mingyu?”

“Pieces of a person’s life, but. . .”

“It’s not a _but_. It’s not a mistake, Mingyu.”   

He said it so gently, and Mingyu felt a twisting in his chest.

He had looked into the mirror when he was 7, at his black eyes, at his dark hair and wondered where it came from.  He remembered the fear in his mother’s eyes when she’d left him behind.  His great aunt’s disdainful remarks about his birth.  Sometimes he came around the corner too quickly and she’d cross herself.  The whispers used to follow him.  He remembered asking his mother at 10 why they had nothing of his father’s in the house. 

And London came rolling back like a storm. The voice crashed into him, _I should have recognized you_.

Wonwoo had settled back against his chair again and he seemed weary, like the burden had sat on him too long and he didn’t know how to sit without it crushing him.  Yet there was almost relief in the way he’d sunk down.

“Part of me was convinced the moment I met you,” he said unprompted. “Only after London did I know for sure. . .”

“What does that make me?” the harsh sound of his own voice surprised him.  He could taste bile in his throat.

Wonwoo took too long to answer.

“ _What am I_?” Mingyu insisted.

He didn’t want to say it.

Mingyu already knew. 

The younger got up and stormed away.

Alone in the kitchen, Wonwoo pushed his chair back from the table.  For a moment he felt nothing.  Then anger started to bubble up inside of him.  He grit his teeth to hold it back. “Damn it!”  His fist collided with the table and then every bit of energy was sapped from him.

Woozi poked his head around the corner.  “What happened?”

Wonwoo waved his hand dismissively.  He felt heavy, almost dizzy like the weight of all the air in the room had compressed over his shoulders.

He was thankful that Woozi didn’t force the matter.  When the other started to leave, Wonwoo spoke through the hands he dragged down his face, “He knows.”  The kitchen was flat and the edges of everything had blurred.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to scramble the pieces back into place.

He could tell that Woozi had paused in the doorway. When he did finally leave, he left behind the word, “Good.”

Wonwoo had told himself so many times over the years to wait:  that there would be a right time to tell him.  Mingyu had never asked before, though.  He always said that if he asked he’d tell him.  Yet he wondered if Mingyu had known all along, and hadn’t wanted to know.  They had pretended for so many years not to know either.

. . .

Woozi was accustomed to being invisible, so that now as he stood a step outside of Mingyu’s room, he was not surprised the younger didn’t see him.  Mingyu sat on the floor with one knee drawn up.  Woozi had watched him become molded into shadow, unaware that the world existed around him. 

A chill seeped into the room through the open window.  And Mingyu was so still, he had almost managed to become part of the furniture.  The only hint that time had not frozen was the sound of insects through the window and the breeze.

He thought to say, _We knew long before you did_.  _No one cares._

But he didn’t.

Instead he stepped over the threshold and paused again, just to see if Mingyu would notice.

When he didn’t appear to react, Woozi said flatly, “Some people would say you’re a cambion.”

That finally got Mingyu’s attention enough to turn his head.

Woozi continued as if he hadn’t noticed, “That’s a half demon kid, anyway.  If you were stillborn then the common term is cambion.”

He crossed over toward the window and he felt Mingyu tracing his motion with his head.

“Now, when a faerie steals a kid and leaves behind their own offspring in the crib, they call that a changeling.”

He turned and leant his back against the windowsill, embracing the cold that crept up his spine.  “There isn’t a word for the child taken or raised by faeries, though.  No one’s ever thought to make one I guess.”

There was finally something reaching in Mingyu’s gaze and Woozi replied to it by pointing at himself, just to be sure that he understood.

“Which is worse,” Mingyu said in a voice as muted as the air, matching the disinterest in Woozi’s tone.

“To be?” Woozi clarified, “Usually whichever one you are.”

Mingyu didn’t seem like he was able to shift the weight of the idea, though the slight ache in his expression indicated he understood the heart of it. 

Woozi had asked the question himself enough times to know its complexities.  For his entire youth he had wondered if maybe there was a child raised with the name he was supposed to have by parents he had been too young to remember.

He didn’t feel like clarifying much, but he did explain, “Back in the day it wasn’t out of the ordinary to drown a changeling.  And choice or not, whatever I think of faeries, I’ve got their abilities and weaknesses and temper.  They all rubbed off on me in time.  I don’t let people call me one of them, though.”

He crossed back toward the door, aware once again that Mingyu was tracing his movements, aware that he was hanging on his words.  “Doesn’t matter what some people say.  You can call yourself whatever you want.”  He paused before leaving to turn back and nod.  As a final thought, he jerked his head toward the open window.  “It’s a bit cold.”

And he left without another word.

. . .

Across the house, DK lay with his hand up before his eyes.  He was clenching and unclenching his fist, watching the slight tremor each time he tried to open his hand.  He exhaled heavily and reached down to the coin around his neck, willing it to work its magic just a little bit longer.

“Are you planning on leaving soon?” 

In the darkness, it almost sounded like Hoshi’s voice had come from the ceiling, instead of from the bed beneath his own.

“I have to.”

Hoshi’s head suddenly popped up over the edge of the mattress.  He folded his arms on the comforter and dropped his chin to rest on them.

DK rolled onto his side so he could face Hoshi directly.  There was a small dot of light in the room from the power strip plugged in under the desk.  The orange light was enough to cast the details of Hoshi’s face in a faint glow. 

“Don’t leave tomorrow,” Hoshi said.

“I have to,” he repeated regretfully.

Hoshi lifted one of his hands and held up his pinky.  “Wait until the afternoon.”

DK reluctantly reached out and linked his pinky into the promise.

Then he rolled back down flat, sucking in air slowly, trying to push his lungs open although it felt like a weight was sitting on his chest.

“Are you okay?” Hoshi asked levelly.

“It’s harder at night,” he tried to pacify the other’s concerns, “The tidal pull.” He threw a quick smile at him, “I’ll be fine.”

“Move over.”

Hoshi hoisted himself up to the top bunk and crawled over DK to the empty spot by the wall.  DK shoved him, uttering complaints as Hoshi kneed him in the ribs before settling down. 

“How are you heavy,” DK complained when he’d recovered his breath.

“I’m not heavy.  You spend all of your time in the water where things float.  Everything feels heavy to you.”

DK ignored the wisdom in Hoshi’s comment by closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.  The coin pressed against his skin.  Somehow the silver always felt cool and he welcomed that. 

Even with his eyes closed he could sense that Hoshi was staring at him.  He swiped the back of his hand at his forehead, aware that sweat had gathered there:  aware that he probably looked worse for wear.

“I was wondering,” Hoshi voiced without introduction, “the person who cursed you, what did they look like?”

“I don’t remember,” he mumbled, trying to fall asleep, “it was a long time ago.”

There was a long pause.  And then Hoshi said, “Right, but. . .anything interesting?  You know, like. . .maybe she was kinda—froggy?”

DK’s eyes popped open and he turned his head so he could stare Hoshi down.  The other’s face was perfectly innocent.

“What are you up to?”

Hoshi’s shoulders shrugged up to his ears.  “Just a question.”

Unable to resist, he freed one of his hands so he could pull at Hoshi’s cheek.  The other scrunched up his face.

“You don’t even sleep, you know.  You don’t have to be up here.”

“I can sleep,” Hoshi answered, laying his head back down, “I have a bed.”  As if to prove his point, he squirmed a bit to adjust his position and closed his eyes. He was close enough that DK could have counted his eyelashes and he couldn’t stop the fond smile that crept over his face.    

“Hoshi, I know you’re still awake.”

“No, I’m not.  I’m asleep,” he mumbled.

“Then how are you answering me?”

“I’m sleep talking.”

The smile on DK’s face became almost pained.  He looked back up at the ceiling:  at the swirl in the plaster that he could have reached up to touch if his arms didn’t feel like lead.  For a while he listened to the sound of his own breath wheezing in his chest. 

“I can’t help that I have to leave, Hoshi,” he said, as if he needed to make it clear.

He might not have said it loudly enough.  Or Hoshi might have ignored him.  But he got no answer.  He closed his eyes again, and he could almost feel the room tilting like the push and pull of waves.

Suddenly Hoshi’s forehead was pressing into his arm.  He didn’t open his eyes, but he reached his hand across himself and dropped it onto Hoshi’s arm.  And although Hoshi was more a gathering of stardust than flesh and bone, he anchored him from drifting off with the pull of the tides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a new reader who has only read this part of the au, the parts of this chapter that feature Mingyu might feel out of the blue. The chapter should still be understandable without reading elsewhere, but if you want some nearly 100 year old background before heading in, this chapter of the st. mark's storyline could be helpful with that: (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10725285/chapters/26456856). 
> 
> Chapter 4  
> aka  
> Wonwoo hesitates too long,  
> Woozi doesn't,  
> And Hoshi asks for one more day.
> 
> aka: Very close readers start to experience concern.


	5. Morning

Seungkwan was leaning against the side of the well when Hoshi emerged into sight.  From the top of the hill, Seungkwan could just make out the house below.  Most mornings he could watch Hoshi slipping around in the garden as a black cat, occasionally chasing after something or other and disturbing Wonwoo’s collection of lavender and rosemary.  The imp very rarely went out walking in human form as he was now, and it was too late for him to be keeping watch over the household. 

“Where are you going?” he wondered to himself as Hoshi started to climb up the hill.

As if he had heard his question, Hoshi looked up and spotted him standing there.  He vanished only to reappear much closer, hopping up to sit on the well’s stonewall.  “Nice to see through you this fine morning,” he beamed.

With crossed arms, Seungkwan watched the imp sit for a moment.  “What are you up to?” 

“DK’s home.  He’ll probably stop by to visit on his way back out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

A small smile sat at the corner of Hoshi’s mouth.  He lay down along the top of the wall, throwing one arm behind his head and closing his eyes at the sun. 

Seungkwan shifted around, wondering how the sun must feel.  He had long ago forgotten.  He paced over and took up the spot on the wall behind Hoshi’s head, looking out across the sky into the distance where the trees linked together.

They stayed there in silence as the clouds hovered in place.

Seungkwan hesitated to say, “You haven’t come to visit in a while.”

Hoshi popped one eye open.  “Sorry about that.  I’ve been busy.”

“With what?” Seungkwan wondered, genuinely curious.

Hoshi rolled off the wall.  He landed in a crouch and looked up from that position grinning at Seungkwan.  “Can I tell you a secret?”

With irony, Seungkwan answered, “Who would I tell?”

Hoshi jumped to his feet. “You really can’t tell anyone. Especially DK if he comes by.”  There was a strange vibration of excitement radiating off of Hoshi but his gaze was strong as he waited for Seungkwan to respond.

“Got it.”

Hoshi snapped once and leant in closer to whisper, “I found it.”

Seungkwan prepared himself for a tedious assortment of questions.  “Found what?”

“His voice.”

The frown that descended over Seungkwan’s features was so strong he almost felt a wrinkle in his forehead as if he were still flesh and bone.  “Wait—”

“I’ve been looking for almost a month now but I finally found out—”

“If you’re talking about DK his voice isn’t missing.  He talks to us all the time.”

“You’re wrong,” Hoshi said matter-of-factly.  “I found who took it and I can get it back.  She’s ancient and she lives in the woods.”

The words settled into Seungkwan with creeping horror.  His head swiveled to the forest and its warped darkness and then back to Hoshi. 

Hoshi was continuing to expand on his discovery, but the words had become fuzzy like they were travelling through water.

He stuttered out, “Why did you do that?”

Hoshi quirked his head. 

Seungkwan stood, water running rivulets down his arms.  They dropped onto the dirt where they left no mark.  “Why did you wake her up?” he repeated.  He felt himself flicker out of focus.

“Woah.“

Seungkwan reached out to grab Hoshi’s arm and to his surprise it connected:  hard.  Hoshi had been able to touch him before but never the reverse.  He worked past his alarm enough to hold on and insist, “You can’t go into the woods.”

Ruffled, Hoshi insisted, “I can, though.  I already have.”

“What did she ask for?”

“I think it’s none of your business.”

“Listen!” He yelled it, but he couldn’t tell the story.  The pebbles in the dirt were shifting and shaking along the ground as if they were running from him.  He could almost hear the faint sound of singing, children laughing as they stared into the well.  “I’ll tell them.  If you try to go in there I’ll tell them.”

Hoshi looked angry—which is more than Seungkwan had ever seen—and he yanked his arm free.  “You won’t.”

“I will,” Seungkwan insisted.  “I’ll tell the others and they’ll stop you.”

“You won’t,” Hoshi insisted, his voice biting, “you won’t tell anyone because you’re stuck here—forever.  You can’t ever leave this well.  You’re dead.”

Hoshi was suddenly on the hilltop alone.  Huffing once, he turned back to the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time.


	6. Wallflowers

The hall was darker than it should have been, as if clouds had rolled in and smothered the afternoon light.  Mingyu wondered whether or not that was the case.  He had pulled down his window shade and tried to sleep for most of the day.  His attempts were haunted by footsteps that occasionally passed by his door and he wondered why they slowed but didn’t stop.  Most of his time had been spent lying under the covers with his eyes open, staring at the wall. It was only hunger that drove him out from his room now as the afternoon was drawn back into evening. 

There was something eerie about the quiet and the darkness in the hall, as if he’d lost track of time and woken in an abandoned house.  Each careful step he took sent a creak along the floorboards.  The light was buzzing harshly. He gripped tighter to the bat he’d brought out of the room.

When something appeared in his path, he jumped so violently that his back hit the wall. 

The shadowy figure was flickering and terribly familiar. He wasn't able to stop his voice from shaking with adrenaline and shock.  “Seungkwan?” 

The ghost was five feet down the hall.  He looked completely soaked through, his clothes hanging on him, water dripping from the end of his nose and pooling in silver at his shoes. 

He moved the bat self-consciously behind his back as he asked, “What are you doing here?  How did you—.”  The words became a slowly dawning realization as he saw through Seungkwan to the pattern of flowers on the wall. “You did it,” he stuttered in shock.  His voice hovered at the edge of uncertain excitement. “You’re not at the well.”

“I tried to stop him.”  Seungkwan sounded like he was speaking from underwater and it knocked the ringing from Mingyu’s ears.  “If he goes into the forest he won’t come back.  He knows she’s out there.”

“What are you talking about?”

The lights dropped to almost nothing, the hum heightening in intensity and when they popped back on Seungkwan was two feet closer.  Mingyu stepped back.

_“He said he was going to get the voice back.”_

Before he even knew what he was doing, Mingyu had shouted S. Coups’s name into the house.

Seungkwan dimmed sharply and the adrenaline almost made Mingyu reach out to grab hold of his arm.  He understood what Seungkwan had done.  Against every ancient fear within him, he had come to the house—to warn them.  But Mingyu knew if he tried to make a grab for Seungkwan his hand would pass through him.

The sound of quick footsteps was more reassurance than when S. Coups appeared, ready and alarmed into the hallway.

“What?  What’s wrong?” he said lightly.

He knew the answer although Seungkwan hadn't said it.  “It’s Hoshi,” Mingyu answered breathlessly, like he had been the one to just race through the house instead. 

“What about him?”

Mingyu looked back, sending S. Coup’s attention to the ghost in the hall.

“Tell him what you told me.”

Seungkwan stared back at him sadly.

“Mingyu, who are you talking to?”

Mingyu’s eyes shot back and forth between S. Coups and Seungkwan.

“Mingyu?” S. Coups insisted, pulling at his shoulder. 

Seungkwan nodded, the light passing through him, and Mingyu understood.

“Never mind,” he answered, his eyes still on Seungkwan who dripped silver onto the floor.  “But. . .” he turned to S. Coups now.  “Hoshi’s in trouble.”

He could practically see S. Coups’s hackles rising.  A darkness lowered over his features. 

“Where is he?”

Almost embarrassed in his guesswork, he said, “He went into the forest.”

“To do what?” the other asked. 

In an ominous ripple, Seungkwan’s voice echoed through him, “One o’ clock, two o’clock the witch is out tonight.”

S. Coups didn’t seem to hear. Mingyu told him: “There’s something out there.”

“You saw this?”

Mingyu nodded automatically. The air was cold and he knew that Seungkwan would be gone when he looked back.  He might have imagined the words _one o’ clock, two o’ clock the witch at the well._

S. Coups was already moving, reaching for his coat hanging on the wall. “Wonwoo!” he called loudly, slipping on his coat. 

“What exactly did you see?” he asked, flipping his twisted collar down.

Mingyu fumbled over his lies, “Hoshi was looking for a woman in the forest.  A witch.”  The word stung.

“Why?”

He thought about all the questions of where Hoshi had been and felt even more like an idiot. “He thinks she has DK’s voice.”

S. Coups’s energy dimmed into something tense and authoritative. He fixed Mingyu with an even stare, “Don’t tell Seokmin that, Mingyu.  He doesn't need to know that.  You can’t ever tell him.  No matter what.”

Mingyu suddenly felt like he had to swallow something in his throat.  The _no matter what_ felt final.   

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs brought Wonwoo into sight. 

“Coups?”

“Get anything you think you need to go into the forest.  Hoshi went in after DK’s voice.”

He said the last part with something that resembled disbelief or sardonic humor.

Wonwoo took a long moment of standing halfway down the stairs to process the words.  In that pause he looked at Mingyu.  "Okay."  Any uncertainty or confusion he might have had was dealt with.  He crossed the hall to the storeroom door.  “I assume you tried to call him back.”

“It won’t work,” S. Coups said certainly, “he’s been planning this.  He's not going to listen.  Right, Mingyu?”

Mingyu turned, embarrassed to still be standing there, embarrassed to be holding the bat and hoping no one would notice.  “Yeah.”

S. Coups had pulled open the drawer in the side table and pulled out a knife. He raised his voice so Wonwoo could hear from the storeroom, “Is it all true, then? Everything they say about the forest?”

Wonwoo’s voice faded in and out and Mingyu could picture him going along the storeroom pulling out bottles and dried flowers and stuffing them in his pockets.  “The rumors. . . I wondered for a while if it wasn’t our energy being picked up on. . . but the songs are older than us.”

“Hoshi’s right, then.”

Wonwoo closed the storeroom door and stayed with his hand on the handle.  He opened his mouth to answer then hesitated. 

“What?” S. Coups asked, in the middle of tucking the knife away.  He couldn’t see the way Wonwoo’s hesitation was twisted in his throat. 

“Witch is a catch-all term.  I can’t say what it is Hoshi’s found.” 

His expression was suddenly apologetic at Mingyu.  They hadn’t spoken since the night before.  Mingyu wondered what Wonwoo was too afraid to say in front of him.  He'd been all too willing to repeat _witch is a catch-all term_.

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan’s unexpected interruption was a sharp censure.

The chaos stopped only for a moment.  S. Coups acknowledged Jeonghan in the hall behind them with a glance then returned to tying his shoes.  “No,” he started, part of the conversation happening only between the two of them.  “We’re going.”

“Like hell.”

The confidence that had been in S. Coups’s demeanor a moment before faded at Jeonghan’s response.  “We don’t have a choice,” he defended, standing back up.  “Hoshi’s gone out there and we have no clue what he’s going to get himself into.”

“And when’s the last time you did something like this?  How many centuries has it been? Hoshi can’t get hurt.  You can.”

“Are you telling me that Hoshi can’t get himself into any kind of trouble chasing some unknown darkness in the woods?”

“I’m saying that something happening to Hoshi is not as important as something happening to you.”

The stiff anger in S. Coups’s face was almost pulsing.  “I know you operate on some old-fashioned hierarchy, Jeonghan, but I don’t rank myself as better than—”

“Tell him, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo dropped his hands to his sides, leaving his jacket half buttoned. 

All eyes were on him.

S. Coups asked the question Jeonghan had wanted him to ask, “What’s really out there?”

Wonwoo’s answer was quiet.  “Something pre-historic.   Children always know.  That’s why they sing of it, but they don’t have a word for what she is.  They call her a witch, but she was here before humans ever were. I'd hoped we wouldn't face it."

Mingyu felt like his heart had shrunken and blackened.  The walls felt warped and altogether too close.

Wonwoo began to play with the buttons of his jacket again.

“Seungcheol. . .”  The note in Jeonghan’s voice was so oddly close to fear.

The conversation they held with their eyes was silent, but the way S. Coups stood so close spoke unease and the way Jeonghan took hold of the flap of his jacket spoke it back. 

In the end, S. Coups mumbled, “I can only go if I know you’ll be here." 

Mingyu felt hot, like there were hands around his throat.  He’d heard the unspoken:   _No matter what_.

He turned on autopilot, his feet carrying him away down the hall.  He didn’t hear anything but a kind of buzzing in his ears and maybe Wonwoo calling after him.

 _No matter what_. 

His leg collided with a box and he stumbled a bit but kept going.  It seemed dark in the house in ways it never had before.  Everything had felt colder and darker since the night before.

He found himself standing in Jun’s room.

The8 was there lying on his side with a lighter in his hand and the crumpled pages of a magazine on the bed in front of him.  He lit a page on fire and raised it close enough to watch it burn.

His forehead scrunched when he looked up at Mingyu standing just in the room. 

“I’m starting to get some of it back,” he noted, extinguishing the burning paper with his bare hand.  “Must be doing something right.”

It felt like vines had grown over the house and were choking it.  What normally felt dry and warm now felt damp and cold and hollow.  But there was light enough in the room to breathe and the smell of smoke.

“Did you plan on coming here to bludgeon me to death or did you forget that Jun goes out on Saturdays?”

Mingyu looked down at the bat still in his hand and leant it against the dresser. 

The8 gestured for him to actually come into the room.

Mingyu went and sat at the edge of the bed, his legs folded underneath him.  He felt a great and terrible shiver rise up from his core and he couldn’t stop the words starting to fly out of him secretly, “Something bad is going to happen.”

The8 flipped the lighter open one more time, flicking the flame on and then snuffing it out with a snap of the lid.  He pushed the magazine onto the floor. “You think you’re the only one who’s sensed that?” he said calmly, dusting off his hands.

It hadn’t occurred to Mingyu before but he nodded at the somehow reassuring accusation and once he started he couldn’t stop. 

“You shouldn’t think you’re so special, Mingyu, it’s embarrassing.”  The8 scooted over to the side of the bed to make room. Mingyu lay down, the effort unnaturally difficult.  He didn’t feel tired.  His eyes were stuck wide open.  But the world felt more compact and manageable lying down flat.  Sometimes he felt too big for the space he was in.

“Everyone’s on edge,” The8 clarified, “I think everyone can sense it a little bit.  It’s just that no one likes to talk about it.”

The8 lay down too so he could look at the ceiling. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Mingyu admitted.

“Is there anything we can do to fix it?”  The8 couldn’t have known what was wrong, but he didn’t ask either.   

“S. Coups and Wonwoo are on it.”

“Good, I guess.  Is it your fault?”

“No,” Mingyu said irritability, though he felt like it was.

“What do you want to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he responded, though it came out sounding a bit gasped and desperate.

“I don’t know what you’re doing in here complaining to me, then, if you’re not even going to say anything.” As he spoke, he threw out his arm and bumped against Mingyu’s head.

He suddenly felt more human than he had since hearing the truth.  He’d never wanted to feel human before.

“It’s going to be fine.”  The8 said.  He said it firmly, his expression pulled forward with something like determination as if saying it would make it true.  Somehow it seemed possible when The8 said it like that.

Words still dripped like molasses out of Mingyu’s mouth. “Why do you want so badly to be a dragon again?”  

The8 kept his eyes on the ceiling.  “Because it’s what I’m supposed to be.  I’m not supposed to like being banished.”

“I’m not really a witch.”

“I knew that.”

“I didn't.

"It's fine.  It's not like anyone cares."

"I do."

There was nothing else to say.  The stayed there while the falling sunlight stretched the shadows longer across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been in progress for 10,000 years and I've finally decided to end it and post it. Whee!


	7. Shadows

The forest was a tangle of moss covered trees, but there was a stability in the puzzle-piece way the foliage and undergrowth had settled on itself.  Creeping plants coiled with purpose up evergreen trees and Hoshi moved silently through the space.  He didn’t usually prefer to walk, but the absence of a breeze made it difficult to do much else.

He sang the old children’s rhyme under his breath to draw her out. The ways through the forest were never the same twice.  He had walked for a while without a hint of familiarity but that was okay.  He was waiting to be found.

As he sang, he thought of how he should have been nicer to Seungkwan.  He didn’t need the notes scribbled secretly in the green book in Mingyu’s room to know where Seungkwan’s fear came from.  Although the witch was not born of the well, there was a reason for the name the children had given her.

In a pause of staring into the interlocking web of branches that blotted out the sky, a voice overlapped with his thoughts, “So, this is where you’ve been going.”

He spun so fast that the leaves stirred on the ground. 

DK almost blended into the patchwork shadows.  When he caught Hoshi staring, he lifted his eyebrows with charming irreverence.

Hoshi vanished, but as he did he heard: “Hold on!”

The pull of the request was enough to stop him.  He reappeared on a tree stump a few yards away and stayed as DK managed to catch up, his hair falling in his eyes.  He bent to grab his knees as if he’d run a long way and was winded by the effort.

The image struck him, and he had to force himself to sound mad: “Why are you following me?”

“Had to,” DK breathed.  “You didn’t tell me where to meet you.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I decided that was a big mistake on your part.” 

He had to force himself not to react to DK’s eyes crinkling up expectantly, his grin inviting.  But DK couldn’t mask the choppiness of his sentences or how ragged he looked.  He was breathing with his mouth open like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Go home,” Hoshi told him firmly.

“I’d like to, but I’m very lost.”

Despite the joke, Hoshi experienced a twinge of what he’d come to know as guilt.

DK was wasting time tracking him down in the forest when he should have returned to the water already. 

That was why Hoshi knew he had to do this.  If he broke the curse then DK wouldn’t have to leave again.

And while he thought it through, DK straightened up.  They were at eye level now.  DK’s expression was so steady and understanding that he almost drew out the answer from Hoshi before he’d even asked the question.

“Hosh, why are we here?”

The secret was a tickle in the back of his throat and he knew it wasn’t a good idea to tell him, but there was no one else he would’ve wanted to tell more desperately.  There was a chance he’d understand. “I’ve got a plan,” he confessed, “I’ve found a way to break the curse, but you have to go.  I have to do this alone.”

DK’s pupils expanded startlingly.

The intensity with which DK was staring brought Hoshi down from the stump like he’d been caught going through someone else’s room.  He tried to explain, “I found the witch who took your voice.  If I make a trade she’ll fix it.”

“Oh, Hosh, you can’t believe that.”

“It’s true!” he snapped, “why does no one ever believe me?” 

Hoshi wasn’t adept at reading expressions, but DK’s long hesitation told him he was thinking something over. 

“Okay,” DK concluded unexpectedly, “I’ll go with you.”

“No, you can’t come,” Hoshi insisted, “That’s not part of the deal.”

A shadow dropped over DK’s features. “What deal?”

Hoshi kept his mouth shut. 

DK brought his eyes to the interlocking web of branches. “This is the woman in the woods you’re looking for.  I know her.  She’s the first of us.”

“The first what?” Hoshi asked. 

“Just the first,” DK explained.  He brought his gaze back down.  “What were you going to give her?  In exchange for a voice?”

Hoshi felt accused and convicted by DK’s eyes.  Because DK already knew.  Because DK had lived here longer than any of them.  Because DK knew what the witch would want.   

He cracked, spilling the truth into the air, “I don’t want you to have to leave anymore. I don’t mind making a trade.  It doesn’t matter. I live so long anyway—”

DK didn’t say a word but buried his face in his hands.

“What if she could break the whole curse,” Hoshi pressed, stepping in close with urgency to make DK understand. “Then you could stay.”  Hoshi wanted to push him to get him to stop bending into his hands, but instead he waited, speechless and guilt ridden for new reasons now.

DK’s voice was muffled but Hoshi understood that he’d apologized into his palms.

“Why?” Hoshi asked, sensing a shift in the air.

DK’s hands dropped, and there was a flicker at the edge of him like a different voice was speaking, “I’ve lied to you.” 

A prickling started at the back of Hoshi’s neck.  In the creaking of the forest, DK watched him over the top of his eyes and something about the glance and the darkness of his pupils had Hoshi slide his foot back until it hit the stump.

He wondered at the pang of unfamiliar apprehension when DK continued, “I’m a predator, Hoshi.  I try to be good for all of you, but it’s hard.”

Hoshi knew every small detail of DK’s face, but the odd expression in his eyes was obscuring his search for familiarity.  He could suddenly imagine that voice drawing people into the water to drown.  He pushed back, “You’re cursed.  It’s not your fault.”

DK’s fingers crawled over to grab the coin at his neck so tightly it seemed to Hoshi that it would leave an impression of the image in his palm.  “Parents tell their children stories about things like me.  You have to know by now.”

“Know what?”

Eyes locked dead on Hoshi, DK pulled at the edge of his sweater with his free hand although he appeared to be indicating all of himself.  “ _This_ is a disguise.  There is no curse, Hoshi.  I’m not human.  I just pretend to be.”

Hoshi knew.  He knew and he hated that he knew and that he still said, “No you don’t.”

DK’s uncommon frustration boiled out. “I can’t help that humans fall for it but the glamor shouldn’t work on you.”

“I want it to.”  He wanted a curse.  He could help a curse.  If DK was cursed, there was a way to fix him.

The weight of the admission put anchors in the air.  They pulled down on DK’s shoulders.  There was no response in the world worthy of what Hoshi has said. 

He sighed out his unstable breath. “I just wanted you all to like me.”

It was, in some ways, a very human thing to say.  Yet Hoshi could hear now how very not human it sounded when DK said it.  It sounded like something he’d heard from stray dogs in lonely lands. 

“I thought if I looked like this it would be easier.  I thought you’d be happier if you thought I couldn’t help it:  the drowning and all.”

And even though he wasn’t good at reading human expressions, he was very good at reading DK.  DK who wasn’t human and never had been.  DK who desperately wanted to be enough--enough to lie about it.  Enough to let them all believe it.  Enough to lie even to him about it.  _If DK was cursed it wasn’t his fault what he did._ But DK wasn’t cursed.  And he’d never been human.

“So what,” Hoshi silenced the biting thought with sudden clarity, “We don’t care.  We wouldn’t care if you drowned. . . everyone. . . everyone in the whole village.  We care about you and you’re one of us.  I’m not human either. None of that matters.”

“It does matter. It’s why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.  I said I don’t care.”

“Yes you do,” DK insisted with an emotion that Hoshi couldn’t begin to sound the depth of, “you hate what I am. You wanted the curse to be real so badly you didn’t even ask me when you _knew_.  But you can’t fix me, Hoshi.”

“I don’t want to fix you.”

“You do!”

His hands grabbed DK by the front of his shirt.  He pushed onto his toes and pressed their lips together bringing every possible force of intent into the connection, and when he moved back, he still held on so he could look him in the eyes.  So he could hold him in place.  So he could focus only on him and the words, “ _It doesn’t matter._ I wanted you to stay.”

He saw DK swallow, his brown eyes familiar again and yearning and still half covered over with stray hair from his bangs.  “Ok,” he said breathlessly, and Hoshi would have taken full credit, but DK needed to go back to the water.  He never could stay for long.  He found that he might have been holding him up slightly.

Despite the ache in his chest, he was prepared to pull DK all the way back through the forest if he had to. He deserved that and more. But he was interrupted by something in the corner of his eye.

The woman at the well was standing beside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n 
> 
> Um. . . yeah , so . . hehe?


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